Shades
by NotAfraid
Summary: Greg finally finds that case he just can't let of. And in the end, he discovers the world was nothing more than just shades of grays and blacks.


**Author's Note**: This was originally a chapter from another story I was writing but I ended up hating the story but_ loved_ this chapter. I'm sick for loving this so much, but I really do. This is just a one shot, there won't be a follow up or a next chapter, so I hope you love this as is.

The entire story is told from Greg's POV. And I apparently have this tick with my writing style, so any lines appearing in italics is an internal dialogue Greg is having with himself as the scene progresses.

**Spoilers**: None. I completely tossed canon out the window on this one. Sara didn't leave for this story. One brief reference to _Play With Fire_ but other than that, none.

**Warnings**: A couple bad words, hence the rating.

- - - - -

_Grissom always said to not make a case personal. And I would always just nod._

_I had seen him get upset over cases with kids. Sara did the same thing when it came to rape cases or battered women. Nick and Warrick...it just depended on the day but certain cases always got them flustered and bothered and pissed off that it nearly, and sometimes did, drive them over the edge. And Catherine I never understood. No matter the victim, or victims, she approached every case with the same intensity and ferocity as the last. It wasn't until I had become a CSI and worked a few cases did I realize how easily you could fall into a trap._

_Nick warned me that I would eventually find a case that I just couldn't let go, even after I solved it, but I never thought I could become so attached to someone I didn't know. Someone who was dead. I always assumed it would be a guy but I never knew why. When I started investigated a serial killer targeting girls in their earlier twenties, though, imagine my surprise when Catherine started comparing my behavior towards the case to Sara's when she was working a rape case. And I realized she was right. This case had become _the _case._

_Then the FBI showed up one day, in a flood of suits, blowing past the front desk with a flash of their badges. They asked to speak to Grissom–who insisted the rest of the team be present–about the case. The serial killer I was after exhibited the same MO as a man they had been chasing from Arizona. And, after much encouragement from Grissom and Ecklie, have asked for our help. They wanted one of us to accompany Agent Melissa Henderson who was using herself as bait, hoping to catch the attention of the serial killer. His name was Seth Cartwright._

_I volunteered myself right away and realized that this was what Catherine had meant earlier. All of us had worked at least one of the scenes, and knew the case. I had worked four of the scenes. I had made it my personal duty to be the go-to person for the case. I knew this case better than any of the other CSIs. If anyone was going to assist with this case, it was me. No one wanted to let me go. They didn't want their Greggo in the direct line of fire. I knew this case like the back of my hand. I could recite the facts in my sleep. But I could tell by the look on Catherine's face that she understood, and I hoped that everyone else would to. I deserved this opportunity more than anyone._

_'"I want to guys. I...I need to. Please."_

_The rest of them looked to Grissom for an answer. He was silent for a moment as he looked me dead in the eyes. I felt suddenly so exposed and open and fidgeted under his scrutiny._

_"It's Greg call, not mine. If he wants to, than I'm not going to stop him."_

- - - - -

Grissom came rushing through the door like a hero just a second too late. Seth pulled the trigger and the bullet came speeding out of the barrel, piercing me in my shoulder just above my heart. I tense instantly, awaiting the indescribable pain as the bullet pierced my skin and lodged into the muscle. It was the fastest thing in the entire world, that scene; from Grissom showing up to me having a bullet in my shoulder only took half a second. My blood began flowing from the bullet wound before my brain even had the chance to register the pain of the burrowed bullet.

Someone screamed when Seth shot me. Scream when the gun went off. The hands still holding my arms squeezed harder, and I'm pretty sure that over all the commotion everyone can hear my wrist snap. I finally see Grissom again, gun drawn, and I hear the safeties coming off of the Fed's guns and the CSIs and a couple of guns behind me. As soon as I look at Grissom for the second time, my brain registered the pain in my shoulder and I scream. Scream like I've never screamed before, eyes closed tight, knees buckling beneath me. I struggle to stay standing, but my legs have melted into jelly and my head in swimming, my shoulder burning.

Flashes of the explosion, memories I had long blocked out, passed through me and I shiver. Because of all the times for these memories to come back, it just had to be _now_. Fucking figures.

And that is when I hear three more gunshots and I brace myself for impact. But I feel the hands fall away from my arms and I hear bodies hit the floor, bodies that aren't mine. I open my eyes soon enough to watch everyone's faces as I collapsed to the floor.

In a matter of seconds, Grissom was at my side, rolling me onto my back so he can see the wound. I finally see Catherine just before she whispered a silent prayer to God and rushes to help me. Nick gets on the phone to call 911. I see Sara standing dumbfounded next to Warrick, who still has his gun drawn and I can almost see the smoke leaving the barrel and I finally realize what "smoking gun" means.

Warrick pulled the trigger and shot the at least one of the men.

I don't make any noise after that first initial scream and Grissom begs me to talk, to moan, make some sort of noise, but I can't do anything. My brain is working too slowly and I can't form a coherent thought if my life depended on it.

No pun intended.

Slowly I start to lose focus on the people and noises around me. My vision gets a little fuzzy around the edges and my world loses color, fading to blacks and whites and in the center of it all is this brilliant bright light and if I could, I would probably laugh because the cliché is true–there is a bright white light.

Catherine is screaming at me, which I'm thankful because right now I can't hear anything other than shouting. My ears aren't picking up any normal sounds waves because there are these high-pitched sounds of silence that are blocking out any other noises; fortunately I can manage to hear Catherine over the white noise flowing into my ears. She's screaming for me to hold on and try to stay awake. I roll my head to the side so I can see her and I smile. Catherine goes silent and the color seems to drain from her face–_How do I know? I can't see any color at this point_–and she knows what my smile means.

_I'm falling into an eternal sleep, Catherine. Please, just tuck me in tight and give me a good night kiss._

She starts screaming again, yelling at Grissom to get help. At the Feds for not having EMTs on call. At me for not holding on and trying to pull through. If I could, I would probably scream back at her to shut up.

_Swear to me that the bed bugs won't bite and that there are no monsters in my closet or under the bed._

I feel other people at my sides. I turn to see that Sara is grasping my free hand while Warrick is trying to assist Nick in slowing the bleeding. I cough, gagging on blood, a small trail of it dripping down the side of my mouth. Grissom wipes it away and looks at me right in the eyes, a look on his face that I never wanted to see–turmoil and hurt and helplessness.

_Remind me to say my prayers before I get too comfortable in my sheets._

The Feds begin yelling that the ambulance is here and I strain to hear the sirens, see the lights outside the window. But the light is getting more vibrant and the blacks and whites are fading to grays and blacks and there isn't much distinction between objects and people and the sounds of the wailing sirens aren't loud enough. It's a world of shadows–I can't see the tears on Catherine or Sara's faces. The emotions on Grissom's face are blurring. I can't see Nick or Warrick's hands pressing over my heart.

_(Now I lay me down to sleep…)_

I hear voices, but it sounds like the adults from Peanuts and I can't tell them apart. The voices are slowed down and dragged out. The words aren't recognizable anymore. It was only mumbles and drones; monotone at best. Catherine isn't screaming anymore. I could hear someone mumbling in my ear and I think it is supposed to be whispering but now, it just sounds like moans.

_(I pray the Lord my soul to keep…)_

I begin to loose feeling. I can't feel Nick and Warrick's hands on my chest any longer, trying to stop the bleeding, pressing so hard I think they might crack a rib. I can't feel Sara or Catherine holding my hands tight until my fingers turn white. I can't feel Grissom wiping the blood from my lips, gently, like I was an antique China doll. I can't feel my body; a numb feeling is creeping up from my feet and heading towards my stomach. My lips feel cold and my tongue feels too big, chocking me as it slides down my throat. I don't feel the pain as much anymore. The ache in my shoulder is dissipating slowly but surely, along with my wrist, which I'm sure is broken. I can feel my heart slowing, my muscles not having the energy to exert the effort.

_(If I should die before I wake…)_

I can't see anything other than people's faint outlines. It's all shades of black with the exception of the white light in the center of my vision, growing brighter and bigger each time my eyes blink. Everything I could see in my world of shadows is going in slow motion. And suddenly, all I can see are the CSIs.

I want to see them

_one last time_

again without tear-stained faces. But with smiles instead. With their CSI vests and silver kits, slipping under yellow crime scene tape to examine another body, another death. I want to see us in the break room, chowing down on Chinese food while discussing a case. I need to see Grissom's mischievous, all-knowing look. Sara's gap-toothed grin and I want to hear Nick's southern drawl. Hear Catherine's laugh and see the determined look on Warrick's face while he examines evidence. Hell, at this point, I would even settle for seeing Hodges' snarky grin.

_(I pray the Lord my soul to take…)_

With all the energy I could muster, I grasp at a hand and I feel someone squeeze back. The whispering voice in my ear becomes understandable but still a little muddled, outside sources of noise begin to bleed in as my ear drums start to somewhat work again. It sounded as if, whoever was whispering, was talking underwater; the water jumbling up the distinct sounds of the letter until it blended together as barely a legitimate word. But it was better than nothing.

"…okay, Greg?" was all I caught from the tale end of Sara talking in my ear. I feel a faint squeeze on my other hand and I wanted to move my head, roll it over to see who it was but my brain wasn't telling my neck to do anything so I hoped–_knew_ –it was Catherine. But as I tried to squeeze back, squeeze her to tell her I was ok, my chest constricted. It felt as if someone had pushed all the air out of my lungs.

_(God bless my house, oh Lord I pray…)_

My blood begins to fill my airway, more of it trickling out of my mouth and running down my cheeks and face and onto the floor. I could feel it filling my lungs, choking me slowly. The voices in my ear disappeared instantly, going back to that annoying blinding, white noise sound. I felt my heart beginning to race, struggling to get air out of and into my lungs, but it couldn't. I thrash my head from side to side in an attempt to convey what is going on because they all just look scared; like they too are choking.

_I…I can't…I can't breath._

Grissom was talking all of a sudden–_Or maybe I can just suddenly hear him_–and his voice was the only one that broke through my

_dying_

haze. He is telling me to calm down. That everything would be ok. That this feeling of panic would soon pass. The EMTs were on their way upstairs and that I just had to hold on for a couple more seconds. That worrying will only make things worse. Easy for him to say–he isn't bleeding to death on the floor. I'm not sure how he knew what was going on or what I was thinking, but I listen to his soothing words; take them to heart and grasp them as hard as I can with what strength I have left in me.

_(Keep it safe both night and day…)_

My body begins to convulse on the hard floor as I struggle to breath, to clear my airway of blood so I can get air in and out of my lungs but I can't. I can feel my body shutting down and off. Slowing down the motions because there is no need for all of my separate body parts to be working, no need for my organs to continue going thru the motions. Grissom's echoing voice slowly dissipates and I can't hear it anymore. I can't hear his calm reassurances bouncing around my skull.

"Get out of the way!"

"The EMTs are here–move!"

"Greg!"

Suddenly, it all goes black.

_(Bless my world and all my kin…)_

My body jolts with electric currents, bringing me back from my unconscious state. I couldn't hear anything but for a brief second, my world flashed in color, right after they shocked my heart. It was in real colors, like it used to be. Back before this undercover operation I dragged myself into. Before I was dying on the floor in some dirty Vegas bar.

Then it changed back to black and gray again, like it was before. But this time, there wasn't that white light, or any light for that matter.

And for a second, when my world flashed before my eyes in color, I saw everyone for what I feared to be my last time. Grissom, with bloodshot eyes and glasses on the very tip of his nose and his graying hair. Catherine, make-up running down her face and her strawberry blonde hair and her whole body shaking. Sara, similar to Catherine, except Sara was sobbing, clutching onto my hand. Nick was standing behind a paramedic, his hands out in front of him, palms up. They were covered in blood. My blood. And he was just standing there; staring at them, face pale. Then there was Warrick, who was next to Nick, looking like he could cry and scream and I think maybe even shaking.

They go to shock me again, to try to keep my heart pumping what blood I have left, and the last thing I ever knew was an EMT putting the paddles on my bloody chest.

_(Keep me safe and free from sin…)_

If Greg had lived to be resuscitated that last time, he would have seen Sara and Catherine start sobbing in unison when his eyes rolled back in their sockets right before his eyelids slid shut. Would have seen Nick drop down to his knees, bloody fists resting on his forehead, saying ever swear word in the English language and possibly even a couple in French. Greg would have seen his heart monitor go flat line. Would have seen Grissom reach out and grab the EMT's hands that held the paddles, signaling for him to stop resuscitation. Seen Warrick push past the EMTs to reach him one last time.

Greg would have seen the EMTs file out, ignoring Melissa and Seth and the two other bodies on the floor. Could have seen the Feds trying desperately to apologize for dragging their CSI into it. Greg would have seen Grissom and Warrick restraining Nick from attacking one of the agents.

_(In Jesus name, Amen.)_

Greg _would_ have laughed about Nick attacking the Feds. _Would_ have consoled Catherine and Sara as they cried. _Would_ have yelled at Grissom for stopping the EMTs from saving their colleague, their friend. _Would_ have followed Warrick to their friend's body. _Would_ have turned away as the paddles lifted their friend's body up off the floor, then letting it fall back down unceremoniously.

But Greg could do nothing but bleed.

_Goodnight. I love you. See you in _

(the morning)

_Heaven._


End file.
